


All We Are is Bullets

by EyeballsToEntrails



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies), chucky - Fandom
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Movie: Bride of Chucky (1998), Movie: Child's Play (2019), Multi, Murder, Mutual Pining, Mutual Stalking, Obsession, Other, Serial Killers, Stalking, charles lee ray needs some hugs okay, possibly some smut if i decide thats how I want it to go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeballsToEntrails/pseuds/EyeballsToEntrails
Summary: He watches from the crowd, a silent admirer. Only, Charles isn't as invisible as he might like. As his obsession grows, so do the stakes. God only knows if they'll both make it out alive.
Relationships: Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in years, so I hope it isn't too terrible. A comment would always be appreciated, but I know there isn't much to comment on yet. If you catch any errors, please let me know.

Three, two, one…  


They counted down to the moment the first chord struck. The moment everything came to life. The crowd cheered as the other instruments joined in, the cacophony of sounds turning into something powerful. It bubbled in their veins. The rush, the high, the freedom. It was unlike anything they had tried before. A drug like no other.  


A quick shake of the head, a sharp inhale, and they were ready.  


When they sang, the world melted away. Their body dissipated. The only thing left was the beat, and their soul. The lyrics flowed out like a frenzied plea. Impassioned, enraged, and unstoppable. Fast paced guitar riffs, heavy drums, and a bassist who knew just how to tie it all together. That’s what heaven was; a stage and a few angry friends to share it with.  


It was a blur of flashing lights and sweat that was over just as soon as it had begun. All too quickly, Syd stepped down, back into their shell. The powerful emotions that fueled the performance were now soothed. They went back to being them. That’s not to say that their stage presence is a persona. It’s just whatever part of them they chose to share with the people in the crowd. It’s their anger, their hatred, their fear. The deepest, darkest parts of their being, laid to bare. It was thrilling, and exhausting. That level of raw, unbridled feeling isn’t sustainable.  


They panted, resting one hand on the wall beside them. A smile played at the corners of their lips.  


“Hey, Syd. Nice job out there tonight.”  


They glanced up.  


“Thanks, man. You, too.”  


James slapped one hand on their back as he passed by, his guitar held loosely in his other.  
A few words of congratulations and praise were passed back and forth between the band members, but none of them were in a particularly chatty mood. After a gig, they were all quite drained. For the most part, the real celebration took place the day after. They usually went out for drinks, sometimes at the same bar they performed at. It wasn’t often they could play a show. Most venues were booked solid, and the ones that weren’t typically didn’t want a band with their lyrical content.  


That’s not to say they didn’t have a little bit of fame, though. In the local scene, they were pretty well known. Antithesis was the up and comer in Chicago punk circles. Mike, their bassist, apparently got approached for an autograph at a strip club once, but that wasn’t exactly believable. It’s not like Mike was the most trustworthy when it came to tales of his greatness.  


They had played around forty shows in their career, mostly covers, but a couple solid original pieces. They, meaning mostly Syd, had a bit of a perfectionist streak when it came to their art. If it wasn’t complete, it wasn’t going to be released. They hadn’t had a chance to get studio time, so no one could purchase any of what they’d made. If they broke up tomorrow, there wouldn’t even be a record they existed, save for a few flyers that might have been saved.  


While they had yet to find their big break, there was a solid core of fans, with new ones seemingly added each show. Of course, there were people who hated them, they didn’t exactly have the most agreeable ideals, but for the most part, they just kept their mouths shut. No one really started shit. It was peaceful, for the most part. They played the gig, maybe mingled with some fans, and went home to their regular lives.  


It was raining outside. It hadn’t been raining when the show started, but by the time it had ended, the sky was covered in bitter, grey clouds. Syd was suddenly quite grateful they didn’t have any equipment to carry. The venues usually provided a mic.  


Tonight's show was at a bar called The Bronze, which was luckily only a few blocks away from their house. Sure, it was nighttime in Chicago, and there were always some baddies on the loose, but nothing bad had happened yet, and they had a good feeling. In all likelihood, no one was going to try anything in the three blocks it would take to get to their apartment. They pushed the hair out of their eyes and set off in the direction of home.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still finding my footing with this. If you have any feedback, please let me know! I'm not sure how long to make these.

The keys jangled in the lock. It always jammed. The landlord said it wasn’t a big enough problem to warrant him covering it, and Lord knows Syd didn’t have the cash to spare on a faulty lock. It was a minor annoyance they just had to live with.  
The door creaked open, and they stepped inside. Practically tearing off their jacket, they chucked it on the couch, narrowly missing Mister, who meowed in indignation.  


“Sorry, bud.”  


Mister ignored the apology. Well, he had fallen back asleep, so he mustn’t have been too disgruntled.  


Syd half stumbled over to the couch. Plopping themselves down beside the fluffy dictator, they lay their ankle across their thigh. Absentmindedly, they undid the laces of their boots and chucked them somewhere off in the darkness. They grabbed the remote and began flipping through the channels, hoping to find something worth watching. At this time of night, there wasn’t much on.  


They sighed loudly and sunk even further into the cushions. The mindless button-pushing, coupled with the chatter of over-eager game show contestants functioned as a white noise lullaby, softly aiding them into a restful sleep.  


The night after a show was always a good one. Normally, Syd didn’t sleep easily. It would take hours for them to even get to the point of physical tire, and several more after that for their brain to catch up. It had always been that way. Even as a child, the running joke in their family was that Syd would do everything you asked of them unless you need them to sleep. This was their reality every night they weren’t on stage. Lying awake for hours, willing their eyes to rest for just a little while. Waking up the next morning feeling no better than when they tried to go to bed. That is if they even managed to get sleep at all.  


Antithesis was the most important thing in their life, at the moment. It kept them sane. Kept them going.  


The voice of a concerned news anchor brought Syd back from their slumber. Damn it. They glanced at the clock. Six hours. The sun had just started to come up. That wasn’t nearly enough time to recuperate, but it would have to do.  


They sat forward, stretching out their back and neck in the process.  


Ow.  


It really hurt. Sleeping on the couch like that wasn’t great for them. That always left them with a terrible crick in their neck that wouldn’t go away for days.  


Syd inhaled deeply, holding in the breath, and letting it out slowly. They were awake. Slowly, they tuned into the news broadcast that awoke them.  


“Another body was found last night. A young woman, in her early 20’s was discovered in the late hours of the evening, naked, with ligature marks around her neck.”  


It cut to the face of a slightly overweight bearded man.  


“I was drivin’ to work when I saw her. I thought it musta been a mannequin at first, but somethin’ felt off ‘bout it.”  


They were intrigued. This was the third strangulation victim found this month. It’s not that bodies were uncommon in Chicago, but this frequency was unusual. It couldn’t be good. Syd wasn’t worried, though. Yeah, it wasn’t fantastic that these women were dying randomly, but as long as whoever was doing it stayed far away from them and theirs, they weren’t going to have a problem. Besides, it’s not like they fit the MO. Most serial killers, if that’s even what this is, preferred women. Usually drug-addicted prostitutes. Three things Syd was not.  


They pushed off the blanket that had gotten wrapped around them at some point in the night. Standing up, they gave each leg a quick shake out. Last night's jeans were stiff, either from sweat or rain, or some brilliant combination of the two. Wonderful. It was their only pair of semi-decent pants. They had no choice but to wear them to work, dirty as they may be.  


Syd rooted around the apartment for a clean top. They weren’t exactly known for being the cleanest of people. After around 15 minutes of searching, they settled for a plain grey hoodie that didn’t look obviously stained.  
Mister yowled in demand for food, sitting in the pathway to the door in an adorable attempt to block Syd from leaving.  


“You have food, Mister,” they pointed at the half-full dish of dry food that sat near the sideboard in the kitchen. Mister blinked and meowed again.  


“Just because you can see the bottom doesn’t mean you’re starving, you stupid fluff ball,” they grumbled as they refilled the bowl. He may be a needy, paper eating bastard, but he was their bastard, and Syd wasn’t about to leave him so unhappy. Even if he was unhappy for the most ridiculous reason in the world.  


Once Mister was taken care of, they grabbed their wallet and headed out.  


The commute wasn’t the best, as they had to take the metro system, but it certainly could have been worse. Syd had coworkers that were forced to walk, or, God forbid, hitchhike. As one could guess, Chicago isn’t the safest place to do that in. Syd would much rather lose their job than run the risk of being abducted, or worse. Luckily, they didn’t have to worry about that. The only risk they faced was overly horny drunk passengers trying to cop a feel. It wasn’t pleasant, and usually left them a bit of a mess, but it never crossed into permanent physical harm.  


The train shook as it zoomed over its usual path, the city surrounding them morphing into a blurry mess of concrete and gloom. Syd stared out the window, the familiar voice of Steve Ignorant pouring out of their headphones. It was a quiet day. Most people on the train kept to themselves, but it seemed like there was a thick, almost pregnant silence over the group of commuters today. It’s funny, they were all strangers to Syd, but this deviation from the norm caused a bit of worry. They may not have been friends, but they were a part of their routine, and so they had become a comfort of sorts.  


Perhaps it had something to do with the body they found earlier, or some other tragedy that had yet to reach them. Perhaps it was just one of those days. One of those quiet days, where everything feels, false. One of those days where something is just off about the atmosphere. One of those days that felt straight out of a dream.  


Wrapped up in thought, they almost didn’t notice when the train reached their stop. Standing up with a start, they bumped into the man in front of them.  


“Shit, sorry!” Syd called out as they exited the train.  


The man yelled out something that had the word ‘bitch’ in it, but Syd didn’t catch the whole thing. Probably for the best. They weren’t going to let one hotheaded asshole ruin their day. It was too damn early for that.


End file.
